Diaspora
by pheeee
Summary: The Exile's story is one of disparate, cloven spirits who, along with a reluctant and bitter former Jedi, become actors in the defense of an equally cloven galaxy. Nuanced KoTOR 2 retelling; FExile.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Transient**

Yeah, she definitely smelled.

Not having spent a minute in the refresher before rushing to catch the shuttle right after her final shift, Solande Can'ast was beginning to regret not taking just a little more time to prepare for travel. A few discreet sniffs down her shirt revealed one of her greatest fears: the beginnings of ripening humanity.

One year on the dirty, rough, and corrupt surface of Eriadu was enough. She had no desire to waste a second more than necessary lingering within the cheap and paper thin confines of what passed for accommodation at work. Solande wasn't particularly fussy; years of roaming the oft slipshod conditions of the Outer Rim had taught her much of rough living. Night after night listening to the sounds of 'heightened' enjoyment coming from as far as three units away, however, was enough to drive even the hardiest of journeymen insane.

_What happened to that finicky slip of a girl from not so long ago? _she silently asked. _Heh, she died along with everyone else, after all._

Grinding her teeth at the bitter moment of reflection, she angrily pushed away the self-pitying sentiment that was threatening to stimulate her tear ducts. A glance up at the chronometer revealed that yet another twenty minutes had passed; forty minutes past arrival time, and her transport off this rock had still not appeared. _Figures I'd be just in time for the shuttle only to be stuck on this station with nowhere to clean up. _And _it's bloody cold. _With no time to unpack something heavier and too lazy to do it now, she just sat there and shivered, only an old tank top and drab polymesh warm-up between the chill air and her thin body.

Bored, hungry, and annoyed, Sol decided to start asking questions. Swiping up her duffel bag, she turned and nearly collided with a disheveled old vagrant, who reeked of stale beer. She swallowed a gasp of surprise and scowled at him. "Ah, there now lass. Could you spare a few credits for a stranded old fella?" he asked, peering up at her with watery old eyes. Solande grit her teeth in irritation, really not wanting to give the beggar anything. Resentfully, she dug through a pant pocket and fished out a few credit chips that she dropped into his outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she brushed roughly past him and walked briskly towards a nearby ticketing office.

"Odd," murmured the Twi'lek at the desk. Deftly tapping at her console with long, sharp looking nails, she navigated through menus and scanned entries, lips moving as she silently mouthed what she read. Solande tapped out a beat with an index finger on the desk and glanced around, waiting for a response. A tall and hairy fellow wearing grease smeared maintenance coveralls wandered around the corner, wiping his nose. He coughed, hawked loudly then spat a large gob of phlegm onto the dull steel floor and licked his lips. _Get me the hell away from this place. _She shot him a disgusted look that he didn't see and probably would have ignored if he had.

"Soland Canast?", said the Twi, giving her an inquiring look. "Sol-ahnd Can-ahst," was the absent reply. Facing the Twi, Soli caught a brief arching of the clerk's brows at being corrected, and felt her face warm a little. She hadn't meant to come off sounding rude. "Yes, well, it appears there was a mistake made with your boarding pass," and Solande felt a brief stirring of panic. "It's all right, though, you're listed here for a ship departing in about eighteen minutes. Gate nine," she added before offering the pass back with a small, uncertain smile. Relieved, Soli smiled with warmth. "Thank you _very_ much," she said with genuine gratitude, and was pleased to see the Twi's smile widen. While Solande didn't suffer fools and made that plain in her daily interactions, the poor clerk had been nice, and deserved a little good will.

The walk wasn't a very long one, so Solande strode along at an easy pace, brain going into auto-pilot as her mind started to wander. She hadn't decided where she'd go, exactly; the Rimma Trade Route offered several opportunities to a wayward traveler such as her. Sluis Van, with its cleaner, more professional tech industry and less corrupt infrastructure seemed the most attractive. Over the past couple of years, however, the oppressive loneliness that comes with exile had begun to take its toll. More than a few red eyed sleepless evenings curled up in bed and stim-induced benders had contributed to a feeling of sad longing, longing for a place to belong again and perhaps feel loved. Various intimate encounters she'd had over the years had been just as empty and soulless as her journeys, and pride had kept her from trying to find the kind of intimacy she wanted. But it wasn't _that_ kind of belonging she had in mind right now, even though the prospect of settling down somewhere with a family was a painfully warming image. She'd pondered stopping at Sullust and finding a ship bound for the Core. Her father had passed away long ago, and as far as she knew her mother had moved back to Anaxes alone. After all these years, perhaps she'd be welcomed there.

_Homesickness. Hah, enough pride stripped away to allow _that_ bit of insight._

Nearing a junction where a large number nine was painted on the floor, she eyed four men lounging around talking and laughing with one another. They were wearing Republic Army uniforms. _Republic troopers? Here? _Her pace slowed imperceptibly while she studied them, covertly looking for sidearms. They weren't carrying anything- they weren't even sporting their teardrop-shaped helmets, and they seemed completely engaged in their raucous discussion. Dismissing them momentarily, she continued past and entered the Gate Nine walkway. A tiny kernel of suspicion formed when further down the deserted passage sat a figure that appeared to be the tall phlegm-hawking fellow Solande had noticed earlier. He was leaning against the wall, sallow cheeks contracting as he puffed away on a thin cigarra. He coughed violently and hawked again, this time swallowing whatever nastiness his lungs had expelled and grossing Soli out even more than previously. As before, he completely ignored her. Brows furrowed, she peered out one of the large viewports located closer to the actual gateway and was greeted by a sight that made her stop in her tracks.

A _Hammerhead_-class cruiser.

There was no mistaking the red and white markings; the large sensor and communications arrays; the imposing bridge-mounted turbolasers. _A Republic warship docked at a minor orbital transit station? Something is definitely wrong,_ and belatedly she wondered at the maintenance worker's presence. Stepping back, she turned around and bumped right into the old vagrant from before. She stared at him, this time unable to suppress a small yelp of surprise. Confusion turned to fear as the tall cigarra smoker stood up and regarded her calmly a few meters away, a small blaster gripped in one hand.

With friendly, watery eyes and a reassuring smile, the vagrant spoke. "Aye there lass. Not to worry."

He was amazingly fast. Soli had only managed to raise her arms in a futile gesture of self-defense before a gloved hand shot out from beneath his tattered grey overcoat and gripped her neck. Gasping in shock, she grabbed his wrist with both hands, then felt something pierce her skin. Nausea gripped her stomach almost instantly, she was overcome by dizziness, and her limbs turned to jelly.

Soli dropped to the floor like a sack.

The last thing she saw through blurred vision before passing out was the polished boots of Republic troopers walking towards them.

_No homecoming for me..._


	2. Sojourns

_Fear, sorrow, resignation. The atmosphere on the bridge of the _Bastion _was palpable, but Solande knew that much of what she felt was hers alone._

_She stood on the observation deck, arms folded, gazing out at the theatre of utter destruction playing out below and around her command vessel. Solande was adept at the art of Jedi stoicism but needed no assistance from her training to maintain still, expressionless poise. It was as if every muscle in her face and body was too weary, too resigned, to bother exhibiting any emotion._

_A rapid series of flashes some distance away from the fraying Republic line marked the arrival of another flotilla of ships. She didn't need to be told who was with them. Even with the cacophony of suffering that echoed throughout the system, it was impossible to mistake that presence; like a distant maelstrom of animate Dark Side power it smothered everything around it__. Soli shuddered in a mixture of horror and disbelief at how much Revan's power had grown before turning to her comm officer. He was already on task; one finger was pressed to his ear piece as he repeatedly hailed the newcomers._

_A holo display flickered and stabilized in front of her and she tried not to show her revulsion at the grim visage that appeared. The black mask and robes had seemed almost comically ridiculous to her at first, but they'd come to embody terror to the Mandalorians and inspire unquestioning, fearful obedience from the Fleet._

"_Revan," she said, refusing to use any kind of honorific. "General Can'ast," came the reply, sounding bleak and hollow from behind the mask, spoken with gravitas at a measured pace._

"_We will be boarding Mandalore's flagship shortly. Order the fleet to withdraw and consolidate at a position of your choosing closer to the planet; the Mandalorians will follow. I will be engaged by this time, so it will be up to you to decide when to trigger the device. You _must_ ensure the field's successful activation. Do what must be done."_

"_As you wish," Solande replied quietly with a slight nod. The apparition seemed to hesitate for a moment._

"_May the Force be with you, Solande."_

_With another flicker, the holo vanished._

* * *

Commander Nayoran of the _Harbinger_ studied the woman lying before of her, puzzled. Slender with a pale brown complexion, her delicate features were at the moment looking drawn, a few fine lines of hard living making her look slightly older than she was. Her hair was straight, nape length, and an odd shade of ghostly white.

She'd looked worse coming in. Bedraggled and unwashed, at a glance she seemed quite ordinary. A day in the kolto tank and post-soak spray down however revealed quite a pretty woman. None of that answered exactly who she was, though, and what would prompt a huge detour to Eriadu just to pick her up. Her name was very Core-ish; the med officer had briefly imagined the fantastic possibility that this was a favour being done for some higher-up or influential pollie looking for their errant wife or daughter. But the Captain was equally mystified, merely insisting she be assigned an officer's quarters and be well looked after.

Whatever the case, she'd been thoroughly knocked out, which made Nayoran wonder if she was dangerous. On top of that she discovered in the treatment logs that someone had administered twice the dosage of sedatives her patient notes recommended. None of the med assistants would admit to doing it, and the other duty doctor—who was bit of a tippler—also denied responsibility. So basically her veins were flooded with depressants and soporifics that, for many people, came close to inducing a coma. Her brain function had indeed slowed considerably though not as much as Nayoran would have expected. Probably due to the kolto immersion, she decided.

"Inquiring Statement: You called, Doctor?" said a smarmy robotic voice, interrupting her diagnostic rumination.

"Yes," she replied, without turning. "Did you meddle with this patient's kolto solution at all?"

"Innocent Denial: Why, no Doctor! As you may well know, I am merely a highly sophisticated and very expensive protocol droid capable of several thousand forms of communication, with moderate computer and electrical repair functions. To my infinite regret I have not been fitted with any medical functionality. Such a grave error would not have been made under my scrutiny, Doctor!"

"I didn't say there was any kind of _grave error,_ HK," she replied mildly after rolling her eyes at the droid's long winded response. She had no idea where the droid had come from or who manufactured the model; she'd never even seen a design like it before and, furthermore, didn't like it at all.

"Clarifying Statement: Oh, of course, Doctor. I had merely inferred from my extensive knowledge of meatb... er, human posture and voice modulation a degree of bemused concern regarding the welfare of said patient. Naturally, I concluded that any alterations made to the kolto solution to which you referred were detrimental to the patient's wellbeing."

"I see," Nayoran replied, not at all convinced. _Droids aren't supposed to be able to lie, are they? _Suspicion began to claw its way up her brain stem. "HK, I want you to report to Droid Maintenance. Tell whoever's there that I sent you, please, and that you're to undergo a full diagnostic and tune up. All right? There's a good chap."

"Resigned Acquiescence: Very well, Doctor. I shall proceed to Droid Maintenance at once. Though, I assure you it is an unnecessary measure and will probably only result in damage to my highly complex circuitry at the hands of inept mea- low grade technician hands."

With what sounded curiously like a metallic sigh, HK-50 ambled out of the medcenter.

* * *

"Hey, quit bein' so pushy. You're just a bunch of rent-a-cops! You can't rough people up and get away with it!"

Atton Rand whinged indignantly as he was dragged along at the elbows by a couple of burly sour-faced security guards. Arriving at the mining facility's detention block, they hurled Atton unceremoniously into a cell before one of them activated the energy barrier, smirked at him, and left.

He was traveling through the sector in hyperspace before one of his rickety ship's hyperdrive sub systems blew out. Dropping out of light speed, he was relieved to find himself in an area of space not totally devoid of all life, even if the closest place to dock was a hole of a mining station.

Without the parts to repair his little personal shuttle, Atton was stranded. Administration had refused to sell him any components and couldn't spare the manpower to take a look at his boat, citing issues with errant mining droids or some garbage that he didn't believe for a second. Still, he tried to make the best of it; he'd been carrying a couple of crates of _Cark-adil_—a very strong tangy spirit—that he managed to smuggle into the facility. It proved a hit with the bored substances-starved miners, earning him a tidy profit—as well as the ire of the facility's security department. Already somewhat panicked and distracted with a slew of systems failures, malfunctioning droids and shady miners; they were in no mood to talk.

So, here he was. With a sigh, he pulled a ratty pazaak deck out of an inside jacket pocket and started playing against himself.

* * *

Kreia sat meditating in the cargo hold of the _Ebon Hawk,_ docked in one of the _Harbinger's_ bays. She'd remained there even through the search conducted by Navy personnel, easily clouding their uninterested minds enough to completely evade detection. The only thing left was to find a way to the Exile and out of this predicament.

She didn't really feel like wandering the passageways of a Republic warship; even with her considerable abilities, there were many obstacles that would prove difficult to surmount. Aside from the already tricky act of concentrating on an unknown number of minds to remain unseen, she would have to stay focused on the Exile's presence _and_ find a suitable path through untold numbers of cul-de-sacs; locked doors and elevators; security cameras and possibly droid guards.

Unexpectedly, her answer came to her. Kreia started to feel the presence of the Exile drawing closer to the hangar bay, which puzzled her, because she could feel no emotion or conscious thought and only shallow breathing. This could only mean that her quarry was unconscious, and being carried to the ship by... a droid?

All her questions evaporated when she heard the whirring sound of the loading ramp being lowered, accompanied by distant blaster fire and alarms. Metallic footsteps presumably belonging to whatever droid had come aboard could be heard moving to the cockpit.

Kreia permitted herself a smile. At last, the Force had brought them together.

* * *

_There was a time when Soli had been one of Revan's most trusted and most capable. She knew sacrifices had to be made, and she made them with little hesitation. Revan's confidence in her made her proud, but pride soon gave way to anguish as the war dragged on. Detachment helped a minimal amount; the conflict was a grinder and the troops just so many chunks of meat. _

_Then there was Revan, Malak, and the cabal of Jedi and other senior commanders who'd gathered around them. Solande performed her duty and maintained loyalty for the sake of the galaxy and the Republic; while she valued Revan's trust, she never considered herself a follower. Soon she and a few other Jedi generals found themselves practically ostracized from the Revanchist faction. Given orders by proxy and spoken to only when necessary, it was little surprise when she was summoned and tasked with holding the enemy at Malachor V. Brilliantly manipulative, really, and typical of Revan's strategic acuity. Revan knew she could be trusted to do it, would execute her part efficiently, even knowing the cost. One more threat dealt with._

_Slowly she turned, gaze settling on Admiral Clews and the rest of the command staff, who'd just stopped trying to maintain fleet cohesion. The chain of command had disintegrated, and there was no time left. Every one of them looked as tired and haggard as she felt, but even in their quiet despair they stood tall, uniforms impeccable, waiting for her command. Clews had been with Soli from almost the beginning; a painfully earnest man who'd developed a fervent loyalty to her. He stared at her now, sadness radiating from his lean and relatively youthful form. _

_Near the tactical display stood a Zabrak. At a glance, he looked muscular and stolid enough for one to assume he was some kind of SpecFor commander. She'd seen him around quite a lot of late. She knew why of course, though his presence remained a mystery to most of the crew. He'd always struck her as odd for a Zab; soft spoken, articulate, melancholic and honest. He was also very bright, and he gazed at her with those large deep brown eyes of his, finger quite literally over the button. More destruction than even the most autocratic Chancellor was capable of wielding._

"_General?" Clews said, hesitantly. "Do you want... would you prefer it if I gave the order, Ma'am?" he offered, sounding gentle yet worried that she might falter at the last minute. _

"_No," she said quietly. "This action is my responsibility and mine alone," she added, a little louder for the benefit of the bridge crew at large._

_She looked at the Zabrak engineer and their eyes locked for a long moment, a mutual understanding born of guilt silently communicated between them. She nodded, then, and turned away from the crew, unable to bear their expressions any longer._

* * *

After the droid left, Nayoran opened her datapad's internal mail application and typed out two i-mails. The first was to droid service, ordering them to conduct a wipe on the HK unit when it arrived, but not before extracting the contents of its memory banks. The second was to the Captain, detailing her belief of its danger to the crew, requesting that the droid be shut down permanently and sequestered for further investigation. Satisfied that she'd get to the bottom of things soon enough, she set her 'pad down, glancing at the inert mystery passenger. "Sleeping Beauty," she murmured to herself, snorting wryly at her own wit.

There was another mystery passenger on board, though, one far less beauteous. She rose and headed to the morgue, where she punched in a code that was rewarded with a hissing sound as the doors slid open. On one of the examination tables lay one of the most horrendous sights she'd ever seen. A man, as far as she could tell, with terrible burns and cracked, dead scar tissue covering his entire body. One eye was permanently ruined, the lid burned away and beige sclera staring out at infinity.

Something that had been bothering her ever since the troopers carried him in was the fact he was still wearing a pair of unburned pants; they said they'd found him that way. It was entirely possible that some other trooper had felt the need to protect the fellow's modesty—whatever could be left of it—but why cover it, then leave?

Lost in her latent detective thoughts, the sudden blaring of alarms startled her. She glanced out the open door to the corridor beyond, where the red flashing of alert lights was reflecting off the walls, bathing the whole passage in an uncomfortable crimson glow. In the distance, vague sounds of shouting and barked commands could be heard.

Above it all, a voice announced over the ship-wide address that they'd been boarded.

_Boarded? Impossible. How could they have _not_ noticed that we were being boarded? _

A last token glance at the grotesque figure she'd been examining made her heart leap up to her throat. His other eye had opened. She tried to relax, reasoning that it was probably some kind of tissue contraction due to air temperature and moisture loss. Reaching out a hand with the intention of closing the eye again, she chided herself silently and whispered to the corpse like a mother talking to a child.

"There now fella, close your eye. Sleep time."

A hand shot up and grabbed her by the wrist; the eye swiveled around to stare her in the face.

Nayoran screamed. Louder and harder than she'd ever screamed in her life, it reverberated through the crimson-lit corridors outside, speaking of sheer terror and complete loss of rationality.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it cut out.

* * *

_Solande screamed._

_It was a raw and ragged animal sounding thing. It spoke of physical pain; anguish; fear and death._

_Regret. Her own._

_In the distance she could hear urgent, worried voices and hands on her shoulders and back. But she couldn't respond. Trembling on her knees and elbows with hands clasped tightly over her ears, she tried as hard as she could to keep her mental barriers up, even erecting new ones as the old ones collapsed. It was futile; the culmination of three years of bloodshed and brutality was too much. Screams of hundreds of thousands of people and scores of Jedi slowly dying was simply more than she could handle, here at the end of all things. It was as if the Force itself writhed in agony.  
_

_Admiral Clews stood just behind her holding a slip of durasheet—an authentication docket—in one trembling hand. _

"_She's in no condition to give the order Sir, let alone confirm it," said a terse voice behind him. "We need to leave _now_ before the field reaches us. Some of the crew have already killed _themselves_."_

_Clews swallowed and nodded._

"_Very well, Captain. Jump to light speed."_

_Stars turned to star lines._

_Soli's world turned black._

_Awaken..._


	3. Dazed and Confused

_Awaken..._

_Solande felt herself getting frustrated; where was that voice was coming from? All the noise had gone away and she just wanted to be left alone, to rest. Pangs of intense anxiety shot through her almost to the point of panic, and her heart began to palpitate. _

_Is this death? There had been no pain; this uncertainty is worse._

_It's cold. I can't see._

"Awaken."

_But how? It's getting harder to breathe._

_Astringent pulses of full-fledged panic wracked her senses, and the sudden forceful release of adrenaline began to drown out what was left of her meager subconscious coherence. She lashed out in anger, then, and felt the sharp—yet almost welcome—sensation of pain in a dozen places over her body._

* * *

"Hey! Is anyone there? This isn't funny! I'm frackin' starving!"

It'd been two days since Atton was tossed into solitary containment. Despite not actually being much worse than anywhere else on the Peragus Mining Facility and with the bonus of solitude, the solid 'crete floor was exceptionally uncomfortable to sleep on and he was pretty sure denial of meals wasn't in any detention handbooks _he'd_ read.

Solo games of pazaak could only keep one amused for so long; the paradoxical amusement of winning and losing against himself at the same time had begun to hurt his brain. He'd tried pacing and losing himself in thought—an idea he quickly gave up when he was sharply reminded of how _his_ thoughts weren't always the most pleasant. And the most pleasant ones couldn't be given full justice right now.

Atton looked up at the camera in the corner of the ceiling and, for the third time that day, made a rude gesture at it.

"Stupid frackers."

He needed a shower. And food.

"No, no, no," he muttered to himself. _No food; need way out._

* * *

A number of things slowly became apparent. Pain; lots of it. She was, as usual, cold. The air was cold and whatever she was lying on was cold—and wet. It was quiet and there was a dull humming sound that reverberated through her resting place, through her. A sickly sweet smell permeated the air; she realized it was whatever she was lying in, and there was also an odd whiff of iron that accompanied it.

_I'm not dead. How is there water on the bridge? I wonder why I'm not dead._

Soli's eyelids were almost glued shut by rheum and, when she finally did tear them apart, she could barely make out a thing through the excess moisture that dribbled into her sockets. The effort was enormous; all she wanted to do was close her eyes again and go back to sleep. After all, what would be the harm? It wasn't as if anyone was expecting her.

Eventually, however, she managed to lever herself up into an uncomfortable sitting position, to take stock of her surroundings. The sight of another four occupied kolto tanks gave her a momentary start; a glance at their ECG and EEG readouts provided chilling insight to their status of health.

"What is this place," she whispered blearily, having learned very little from four dead men and bare walls. Managing to summon up enough courage, she looked down to try and assess her physical state. She wished she hadn't; there were cuts all over the place, most of which were shallow and superficial. But a few definitely were not. An ugly gash in one thigh continued to leak into the large pool of pink she was sitting in—a mix of kolto solution and her own blood. A tear in the side of her cami revealed another slash, only narrowly missing a kidney. Red smears, wet clothing and a dramatic-looking diluted pool of blood all added to effect rather than substance, but she still felt stick thin and hypovolemic. There was glass everywhere.

"Nearly killed by a kolto tank," she muttered, snorting. Unable to divine any reason for it bursting open by staring at it, more practical concerns took over.

Gingerly extricating herself from the shards of glass on the floor and taking a moment to steady the waves of dizziness threatening to topple her back down, she painfully began nosing around her immediate surrounds, a hand clamped to the injured side. Her free hand ran gently along the wall to help guide and support movement, eyes momentarily squeezed shut to try and stem the pounding in her head and clear the white splotches in her vision. As if none of this was enough, a high-pitched ringing that had been with her ever since _that day_ began to surface again, volume rising then abating with every carotid pulse.

A slow but methodical search through the med station didn't turn up very much; a few med packs and other loose medical supplies that she used to patch herself up as much as possible. All the water was saline and there was nothing edible to be found. A terminal with a few entries detailing recent events of the 'Peragus Mining Facility' and Soli's patient notes blinked away in a corner. She tried to take it all in but was simply in no condition to honestly give much of a damn, though even through the haze she did catch a glimpse of the word 'Jedi'. Anything else that looked potentially useful was dumped into a little med satchel.

A room across the way turned out to be a morgue. There were a few bodies inside, most of whom bore what appeared to be blaster wounds; one fellow looked liked he'd been trampled by a herd of bantha. It was the final body that really surprised her, because it wasn't actually dead. The jolt received when the old woman who was lying prone just a few moments before suddenly jerked to life caused a spell of faintness that, perversely, made her angry. She'd had enough of all this helpless staggering around.

_Anger is better._

"Who the kriff are you?" Solande demanded, her rising gall really not accomplishing much aside from causing another dizzy spell. The smug voices of old teachers talking about 'serenity' echoed around her head; she felt like she was going to go insane at the unfairness of existence.

The old woman, however, appeared quite unfazed by Soli's attempt at aggression.

"Find what you're looking for, amongst the dead?"

Spoken in a calm voice that made Soli shudder in recognition, the woman merely took a moment to adjust her eccentrically low cowl before solemnly regarding her.

"What?" came the dumb reply.

"Did you get anything useful from the bodies?" The voice was tinged with irritation.

"I'm not sure yet; what do you have on you?"

_Really lame._

The old woman seemed to agree. A corner of her mouth turned down in disapproval before she spoke again.

"We can both do without your hollow impertinence, girl. Save whatever wit you have for finding a way to survive this place. And perhaps you might extend your search to some clothes, if only for proper first impressions," she ended dryly, giving Solande a brief once-over.

Soli was momentarily stunned; the woman's voice was so authoritative and matronly that she _almost_ felt like a child again. Or a padawan, perhaps. Blinking a few times, she realized she was gaping and closed her mouth with an embarrassingly loud _snap._

"You're the one I heard in my dreams, trying to wake me up," she said evenly.

"Yes, I'd hoped as much."

"How?"

Kreia, as her name turned out to be, went on to explain the events that led up to their being stranded on the mining facility. The attack on the light freighter she was aboard; being picked up by the _Harbinger_; the boarding of the Republic vessel and their hurried escape. Soli got the feeling the old woman was filling in gaps as much as she was creating them, but kept silent.

"So I was unconscious this _whole_ time? That's more than three days." _No wonder I'm starving._

"Yes, you were heavily sedated. Too heavily, in fact. It's a wonder you didn't enter a coma as someone with your dimensions ought to. Likely a result of your Jedi training."

_Huh. That supposed to impress me?_

"Don't flatter yourself, girl. I have little use for the awe of children. I know what you are and I choose not to hide it."

Flustered, ruffled and resentful, Solande was by now nearly beyond surprise. Memories of her last hours on the transit station over Eriadu had come back; the trap she'd neatly fallen into. The more she tried to grasp all these threads of information, the more they all eluded her, pulling her mind in a dozen different directions.

Sighing with an air of noble suffering, she decided to abandon any notion of gaining control of the situation and just submit.

"All right, then. What would you like me to do?"

Kreia smiled.

* * *

Hours of tinkering with various metallic bits appropriated from a credit chip, a broken comlink and items of clothing proved futile.

Atton didn't know what he'd hoped to achieve; the possibility of somehow shorting out the energy field was hopelessly remote, but it was better than sitting around waiting to dehydrate and starve.

He had no idea what would possess security to hold him in this cell for so long without a second of contact. Of course, knowledge of some of the events allegedly taking place when he'd arrived prompted the mind to construct any number of theories. Nearly all of them involved a deserted base, everyone either dead or evacuated, leaving him in his little cell, abandoned. Naturally, he tried not to mull over those scenarios too much.

As time continued to trickle by, though, and the options for survival began to dwindle, they all but dominated his thoughts. Unwelcome sensations of panic and desperation began to work their way into his brain, awakening a familiar madness he thought he'd managed to evade. And, somehow, he knew this _must_ have something to do with that Jedi.

_Jedi. Always the Jedi. Always some Force-whore hounding my every movement, always present when I'm at my worst. I should have fracking killed that bitch when I had the chance._

A small part of his mind was a little shocked at the violence of these thoughts. Only a small part.

There was a woman standing in the doorway.

It had actually taken some time for Atton to notice, lost as he was in brooding reverie. It was the soft feminine patter of bare-footed steps that hauled him back into reality and, almost instantly, his cocky demeanour returned. Even then he couldn't stop himself from gawking.

She stood in front of him, arms folded and brows furrowed, studying him with amber eyes like he was some kind of lab specimen. He didn't care; he took the time to study her back. He noted the contrast between her sun-friendly complexion and his own midnight tan; took in the near-white hair, and, most especially, the friendly damp camisole that clung to her torso and exhibited a modest yet still pleasing _décolleté._

"So," he began, awkwardly. "Boxer shorts, huh?"

"They're comfortable," Solande shot back a little _too_ quickly, eyes narrowing. It was true. Didn't stop her from feeling just a _tiny_ bit embarrassed, though. She always did have a fashionably boyish taste in clothing.

"Huh, yeah I get it. Easy access and all, right?" He offered a leering smile that quickly faded when he saw her jaw set and lips part just enough to reveal teeth that, while normal, took on a decidely animal sheen.

"Uh, sorry I, uh. Hey, I shouldn't have said that. Um, I've just been in here a long time, y'know? Then you suddenly appear in your underwear and... well, things just seemed to get a lot brighter. You seem to have had a bit of a rough time." He meant that at least; he hadn't noticed at first but the thin reddish nicks and cuts over her legs and arms were apparent now.

"Heh, right. Why are you in here?"

As the man explained his situation, or at least gave an explanation for it, Solande sized him up, mind in overdrive. She wanted to leave him here, unable to shake a very vague feeling that something wasn't right about him. It was something about his expression as she came in and his sudden transformation when he saw her; a little more than unnerving but not quite frightening.

_Still, leaving him here would be more than a little heartless, and I could use his help. I could use it for the same reason I'm afraid to let him out._

Atton's animated explanation started to trail off as he noticed she wasn't really listening, or at least not closely. She just stood there, disconcertingly still and staring. He began to wonder if she was a little unhinged, or if she was afraid of him or...

_Frack. It's the Jedi._

He wasn't sure what to feel as that realization dawned. A dozen thoughts sped through his mind, all of which were quickly suppressed by one overriding concern: his need to get out. His heart rate had started to pick up, though, and he struggled to relax and keep his expression jovial, already half-panicking at the thought of her feeling his turmoil. But her expression hadn't changed.

"So, er, would you be able to get me out? I could help you escape, get us to your ship. Um, you _do_ have a ship, right?"

He could feel his chest thumping as seconds of silence ticked by.

"All right. I'll free you. You understand this means I place a measure of trust in you?" There was hardly a choice. Her question was phrased as a sort of last ditch effort to instill some kind of guilt in the man in case he _did _turn out to be dangerous. A flimsi thin defense.

"Of course. I need you as much as you need me." He did indeed feel a stab of guilt at the question, which he shoved aside.

She released him.

* * *

She'd insisted on his leading the way. Atton wasn't particularly worried; it seemed unlikely that she'd release him just to try something funny. She was a Jedi, after all, and she stood now by his shoulder. He could feel her gaze on him and not at the screen.

Abruptly, something other than Solande drew his attention.

"Wait a minute," Atton muttered.

"What's wrong?"

"This station's been severed from the main hub. We won't be able to go anywhere with the emergency lockdown in effect and I can't access it from here. The only thing that seems to be functioning is the automatic hail transmission. I guess I can get comms working but I dunno how that's gonna help us much." He started to gnash his teeth in frustration.

"Can you get it working and give me a try?"

It didn't take him long, and he stood back, giving her some space. He watched as she fiddled with the frequencies, engrossed.

_It would be so easy. She looks tired and frail; she still walks like they do, but not with the same weight. And what if she finds out? Where there's one Jedi there's always more to follow. It would be a shame. She might be fun._

He bit at his lip, nearly paralyzed with indecision. He'd taken off his belt previously to remove the buckle in his ill-conceived quest to bring down the energy field to his cell, and the leather strap was coiled up in a pocket. He slipped a hand in, pulled it out, and slowly began to wrap the ends around each hand.

_I might actually need help now, though. Maybe if I wait until we get to her ship. If we get there._

A voice that nearly made him leap in shock ultimately took the decision out of his hands. He turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"Ah, I see you've found him."


	4. Inevitability

"Beep deet-deet bwop doop?"

High pitched, excited warbles of a utility droid spluttered through the console, momentarily overriding Kreia's next words. Solande sighed in relief; Kreia had mentioned something about droids on her ship. Oblivious to Atton's now-muted intent and preferring to ignore Kreia as long as possible, she set to work trying to coax her newfound metal ally into cooperating.

"Hey there! Yeah, I hear you. How's your functionality? Are you badly damaged?"

"Deet beep deet deet boooop."

"Thank frack," she breathed. "What's your designation?"

Another burst of warbling.

"T3-M4? Ok Teethree, I'm glad you're alright, but I need your help. Will you help me?"

Having apparently sounded his willingness, Soli dove right into peppering it with diagnostic questions, eliminating possible routes of escape, bouncing ideas off him and listening to his input.

Atton couldn't help but be impressed, even as he surreptitiously slipped his leather strap back into a pocket. He glanced a couple of times at the old lady who'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere and, to his relief, found that her attention had wandered to the younger woman.

_Did she see me? Does she suspect? Is she _another _Jedi?_

The thought of Solande coming to learn of his intentions made him feel inexplicably ashamed. Her expression as she essentially asked if he could be trusted was like a wound in his mind, now, and he resented it. Her calm and controlled sense of urgency in trying to get them all out didn't do much to ease that guilt.

"How do you even understand that piece of junk?" he asked, trying to distract himself.

"I worked with droids a lot at... at one point," she replied noncommittally before turning. "The droid is going to work on bypassing some of the security measures, so we need to..."

She trailed of as it became clear her companions were staring out the view port, Atton with his mouth agape. When she saw what was commanding their attention, she shuddered a little in apprehension.

"The Harbinger," Kreia said simply, in a calm voice. "They're here for _you_, Exile."

"_What_ did you call me?" Whirling, she faced the older woman, body tensing and eyes dark with distrust.

Without warning, a malaise settled over her; she could feel her trachea gently contract, but not enough to impede her breathing. Soli's eyes widened and she swallowed reflexively, allowing her body to relax and go still; Atton just stood by dumbly, unwilling to get involved.

"I wasn't trying to be aggressive," she hissed, glaring at Kreia with intense dislike.

"I want to make one thing clear," Kreia began, her voice gratingly calm. "I am _not_ your enemy, girl. You would do well to follow my advice, and resist your reactionary impulses. You are not solitary and nameless anymore." Then, her voice softened. "There will be time for explanations soon enough, Exile, when we are away from this place. But for now, the danger aboard that ship is far greater than any mere company of soldiers. It is a force you will not be able to face."

For a moment, Solande was tempted to be stubborn and resist; demand an explanation _now_ and stall just to see how Kreia would react. She'd thought the value she placed on her own life had diminished to almost nothing over the years, but was now beginning to understand how puerile and self-absorbed that had been. That feeling of the unfulfilled, the _unfinished_ that she'd ignored was beginning to grow.

But she didn't think it would manifest in this form.

_After all this, what did you expect? It's inevitable. You were never really meant to escape._

* * *

They were on a Republic warship full of dead troopers, and Solande was still in her underwear.

On the way through the infuriatingly long and winding passageways of the facility, they'd stumbled across a number of things, including scraps of data suggesting that a small group of miners had wanted to sell Soli to the Exchange. She'd shrugged it off. If Kreia was telling the truth—and Soli believed she was—Exchange thugs seemed pleasant by comparison. Atton hadn't said a great deal the whole time and avoided eye contact whenever she spoke to him. A sense of unease hung around the trio like a bad smell.

Her usual purposeful stride was slowly returning, at least; outward pride her body still carried even if her consciousness didn't. And she could _hear_. It'd been subtle at first, her tinnitus receding enough that she was able to pick up detail she hadn't heard in years. Now it was as if she were standing beside a waterfall. She knew what it was, but didn't dare contemplate the implications.

"Wait," Kreia said suddenly, and slowly turned to look down a corridor to their left.

An open, blackened set of blast doors revealed a darkened room; the only light came from an occasional spark from some damaged circuitry protruding from the bulkhead. With every audible discharge, a large, tall and masculine figure was briefly illuminated.

Solande stared at the man in horrid fascination. Nothing was clearly visible from that distance, but she could see the cracks all over his torso and one eye that didn't look quite right. Now that she was aware of his presence, she could _feel_ it, too; raw, bitter hatred fueled by suffering. It was too difficult to make out who his single 'good' eye was fixated on.

"Go," Kreia said, jarring Soli out of her gaze; the younger woman looked at her blankly.

"Find the Hawk and prepare to depart. I am not defenseless."

"Are you outta your fracking mind, lady?" Atton said incredulously. "I might not be a, you know, _Jedi_ or anything, but I still wouldn't be stupid enough to actually _try_ and fight that guy."

"Be quiet, fool," she countered, harshly. "_She_ will be your charge. See that no harm befalls her, so I may see past any... designs you had in mind." With that, she walked toward the strange figure, a green beam erupting from a metal cylinder that had slipped into one hand.

Solande only had time to arch a quizzical brow at Atton before he grabbed her by the elbow and started to drag her along; partly with the intention of heading off the inevitable query, but mostly just to get them both away. She managed one last ambivalent glance back as the brown-robed elderly savior of theirs vanished into dark.

* * *

"We've spent way too much time in this place," Soli muttered, still rubbing a tingling hand.

Atton grunted in acknowledgment, arms crossed as he tensely watched and waited for Teethree to finish slicing the hangar bay door controls. Every now and then, brown eyes would flicker over to this strange woman he'd fallen in with. Her little incident in the Harbinger's engine room was more than a little creepy to him and, for once, he was beginning to feel slightly out of his league.

_I can't run with a couple of crazy Jedi women. No fracking way._

Finally, the large airlock standing as the last barrier to freedom slid open with the loud hiss of decompressed air. Before them stood a handsome light freighter, dressed in unsettling Republic-esque colors.

"Well," Atton drawled, with a cheeky grin. "A little worse for wear, but still a pretty lookin' ride. Bit like you." He glanced at Soli with a smirk.

Ordinarily ready to deal out some kind of reactive rebuke, Soli's focus was at that moment on the far hangar doors. They'd opened, and several figures wearing shiny armor could be seen running towards them.

"No time for that rubbish," she murmured, indicating the troopers, before starting toward the ship.

* * *

"I have defeated you once, and I will do it again. You should never have returned from exile."

Kreia smiled inwardly. His voice had grown _larger_; less frayed at the edges. She could feel the hatred oozing from his very being.

"You have grown strong indeed. It is a pity, that you prize such trivial emptiness above all else."

"And now you follow another. Why? I sense nothing but fear and weakness. It is more than empty; it is pathetic. Have you grown so desperate?"

"Ah. You are the same. You cannot defeat what you do not see."

The Sith Lord didn't bother answering. Wordlessly, he lunged, the _snap-hiss_ of his ember-red blade igniting and swinging in an arc up toward her, all in one fluid motion.

Kreia was prepared; red blade met green with a fearsome distorted crackle. Raising a hand, she _pulled_ at him, and he screamed.

Had there been more light than what the sabers exuded, one would have been able to observe the edges of the Sith's cracked, patched skin begin to peel and pull. All over his torso, grey gradually gave way to brown, then red, as the husk that served as skin and held together by sheer will, tore like so much bark from a tree.

"The more you embody the Force, pained one, the less you control it; the more it controls _you_."

As if those words acted as some signal, the Sith abruptly stopped trying to resist with his mind; straightening, he let loose a terrible bellow, and charged.

* * *

The takeoff was hairy.

Sitting in the copilot's seat, Soli had found controls for what appeared to be highly illegal anti-personnel repeaters. They didn't provide any direct control, as the placements were automatic, but they did lay down a surprisingly effective screen while Atton worked hurriedly through pre-flight. They also provided enough suppressive fire to allow Kreia aboard—despite Atton's urgings to the contrary.

"Our situation has not improved," Soli remarked in a casual tone that didn't quite conceal how nervous she was actually feeling.

"No _shit_," came the barked reply. Atton was busy wrestling the ship's controls, sometimes coming within a hair's breadth of head-on collision with one of the millions of asteroids surrounding the mining facility.

She tried not to imagine the feeling of fiery death as she clung onto the sides of her seat, knuckles pale. The ship rocked a couple of times as it was hit or grazed by an energy bolt. Incredibly, the _Harbinger_ was following them, smashing asteroids in its path with reckless abandon and blazing away with its forward batteries.

"Do they even _know_ this entire field could go up?" she growled, eyeing with fearful fascination the fat green bolts as they streamed past the _Hawk._

_The real question is: Do they care?_

The ship rocked violently and the instruments panel in front of her started to sound a high pitched alert.

"Flight display is showing shields at--"

"I know, I know," Atton cut in tersely. "We have two choices. Well, three actually if you count dying."

"Let's make it an even two. I'm obsessive like that."

"I'm glad we're on the same page, you and me," he said, flashing Soli a quick grin. "Either we keep trying to outrun them, or you go ahead and pop one of these cherries. With a little luck, that ship'll fry and we'll outrun the fireworks in safety."

Soli chewed on her lower lip in agonized indecision. This situation was all too familiar and, to her horror, she'd found that her thought process hadn't really changed much after all these years.

_Could there have been any survivors left on that facility? __Even if there aren't, would blowing up this entire field—probably along with Peragus II—be, well, ethical? _

_Do I really care that much if it's not?_

"Get ready, then."

Leaning over an instrument panel, she brought up the wing-mounted cannon HUD, and took a deep breath.


	5. Cursed

___It was early evening, and the sky was supposed to be fairly bright at this hour on Bertina VII, but dirt-grey clouds had gathered over the city hours before. The deluge hadn't stopped since then; a storm so fierce it was almost as if the planet itself was trying to halt the destruction being wreaked upon its surface. So fierce, in fact, that it had disrupted surface communication._

_Major Thixs had been forced to trudge the last half kilometer through blinding rain and filthy sludge to regiment command. The landspeeder that'd taken him most of the way was currently shoved to one side of the road next to a junction, where it had been rendered immobile courtesy of an out-of-control supply vehicle._

_He sat now on an empty crate, nursing a hot cup of caf. The bombed out confines of some old government building, reinforced by Republic pre-fabs was almost pleasant compared to the front lines. A staff secretary even offered him a sandwich; he'd accepted in a second, of course. The entire 221st Mechanized Division was almost completely encircled by the defending Mandalorians, and luxuries such as fresh food were hard to come by._

"_The Colonel will see you now, sir," came an eerily sweet-sounding voice. It was the secretary who'd furnished him with the trappings of brassdom._

"_Thank you," he replied, trying not to stare. Her uniform was impeccable._

"_You can take that with you, if you like," she said, glancing at the cup of steaming beverage he held._

_Thixs' brows rose in surprise, but he nodded gratefully and was rewarded with a sunny smile. He hesitated before heading down._

"_Are you new here?"_

"_Oh, yes. I arrived with the Colonel. I'm on her staff."_

* * *

"Wow."

"What now?" Soli asked, with a start. They'd been sitting in silence for the past five minutes after entering hyperspace, each lost in private reflection of their destructive, narrow escape.

"I guess I'm surprised you actually did that."

She flinched at that remark; it cut in a way Atton couldn't possibly have been aware, so she resisted the temptation to snap defensively. Sighing and rubbing at her temples with thumb and forefinger, she tried to ignore the self-hate rising from her stomach like reflux.

_Surprised at how unJedi-like it was, you mean_.

"You alright?"

Amber eyes peered oddly at the man; concern from this guy?

_Or just another probe veiled with his idea of subtlety._

"Not really, no. Why d'you ask?"

"Well, you're lookin' pretty pale. It doesn't really suit your complexion."

As much as Soli did _not_ appreciate his input in this area, she had to admit he was probably right.

_Yeah. I must really look a sight. Need a mirror._

And then she giggled. It was a brittle, vacant, slightly hysterical little sound that almost shocked her back into silence when she heard it. But Atton just had to open his mouth.

"Huh? What's funny?" He was staring at her now; his cheesy grin was gone, replaced by confusion.

"Did you notice a mirror in this ship anywhere? Or a little foundation, perhaps?" she managed, struggling to contain the rebellious peals. They became worse anyway when she noticed Atton's clearly perplexed expression.

"Um..."

Any further cackling or conversation was abruptly cut off by the whine of a charging blaster.

* * *

"_Say again, Ma'am? You were cutting out."_

_It was already difficult to hear anything over the sounds of battle and rainfall; the waves of static made things almost impossible, despite all the last minute modifications carried out to boost signal strength._

"_Your orders are to contin-- the --vance, Major. We c--not afford to -–draw now. I'll be ar--ving shortly."_

"_Ma'am, I don't think you qui—"_

"_Do wh-- must be done, Major," finished the clipped, cold voice, before cutting the link._

_Thixs removed his headset and angrily threw it down on the comms panel, much to the dismay of a nervous looking comm-operator. Jumping down from the back of his MCV, he gave his executive a resigned look and a curt shake of the head. The other officer sighed and fell into step behind him as Thixs peered through a pair of macrobinoculars._

_Both his commanding officer and nearly all of regimental command had been killed by a daring assault behind Republic lines. While they weren't exactly the most competent leaders the Army had to offer, Thixs was beginning to miss their overly cautious, by-the-book approach. Now he was in command of a battalion, and was being forced to send a large portion of them to their deaths._

_Worst of all, it was a Jedi giving that order. He'd never imagined they could be so ruthless._

"_At least these fracking things still work," he muttered darkly, adjusting his 'nocs._

* * *

Solande didn't react quick enough. To her surprise, Atton had acted with far greater alacrity. An old ion blaster they'd found in a locker back on Peragus had materialized in his hand almost as soon as they heard the noise. He was already blasting away at the strange looking droid standing at the entrance, even as she was hit square in the abdomen with a sizzling blue bolt.

Soli slumped to the floor half-conscious and unable to move. Able to stave off the worst effects of a stun blast—largely thanks to her reacquired sensitivity—she listened hopefully for a positive outcome while trying to work the muscles of her limbs and digits.

_This whole lying prone on the floor business is getting pretty fracking old._

Atton couldn't believe this thing. He'd had his share of encounters with battle droids before, but none of them possessed the fluid combat acuity of this particular specimen. Unlike most models which had only rudimentary notions of self-preservation and close combat technique, this one had almost all the maneuverability of a human.

With his back pressed against one side of the tactical display, Atton took a moment to catch his breath and come up with a plan. There weren't many options, and he was about to make a desperate run for the med bay when a loud electrical discharge sounded out, followed by the crashing of something falling to the ship's metal floor.

Scrambling to his feet, he came across the droid's smoking remains.

"Beep beep dwoooooop," said Teethree, solemnly.

Atton opened his mouth to say something when he heard the familiar patter of bare feet.

"Did you do that, Teethree?" Solande asked, head tilted to one side and an odd expression on her face. After a few warbles signaled an affirmative, she flopped onto one of the seats facing the tac display and stared at it pensively.

"Huh? What is it?" Atton asked. "Do you know what this thing is?"

"None of this can be coincidence," she began, voice soft and a little distant. "We're being dragged into something neither of us want any part of." She turned and looked at him, then, and pointed at a closed door in the corner of the room.

With a cold lump developing in his gut, Atton strode over to the door and opened it. Standing right there in front of him was the same droid that'd just attacked them. It was broken, old, and had a dull, peeling, rust-colored finish, but there was no doubting it. It was virtually an exact replica—and it looked like it'd been standing in that spot for a long time.

He even forgot to correct her use of the word "we".

* * *

_Her attire was non-regulation; a few pieces of olive colored light armor, the rest some kind of flexible black mesh suit. One of the compact spaulders she wore sported the winged saber insignia of the Jedi Order. She was beside him now, extinguished saber held in one hand, surveying the broken tableau before them. She'd certainly pitched in after arriving; gruesome remains of rent and headless bodies decorated the path leading up to the rise they were standing on, all while shouting exhortations to surrounding companies. It wasn't long after that the defenders withdrew; yet, it still seemed a little too simple._

_"A success?" Thixs grated, barely able to contain his anger. "Nearly half the battalion_—_three companies__—are gone, utterly destroyed—most of those to land mines alone. Barely half our objectives were met. We couldn't __use ____most of the armor. I'm hearing similar stories from other units down the line. __I doubt they even withdrew because of us!"_

_She looked at him for what seemed like the first time, her uniform neutral expression impenetrable to any kind of verbal assault he might have to offer. Yet, there was a hint of something in those amber eyes as she regarded him._

_"Yes, the mines," she said finally. "I regret that, I really do."_

_Despite his rage he could tell she was being sincere. Worse still, he had to admit there was little she could have done about that. The Mandalorians had learned damnably fast that many Jedi were able to sense the energy signatures of proximity mines and detonate them using the Force. So they'd taken a trip back a millennia and deployed old-fashioned pressure, tripwire and vibration mines, requiring no energy source. Exposed and under fire, it was impossible to disarm them on the move. Armored units had done their best to run over and detonate them, but they couldn't catch all of them. The results were devastating._

_"With respect, Colonel, your regret does not bring back the lives of my men."_

_"The lives of your men were spent saving the lives of other men in other units. Third battalion drew more reinforcements to this point than any other; the Mandalorians must really have thought this was the main thrust. You succeeded in surviving at least four to one odds, and even managed to meet some objectives. You should be proud, and I shouldn't have to explain this to you."_

_Thixs couldn't believe his ears._

_"You're telling me this was just some feint?"_

_"__Your ingenuity kept your unit largely intact," she replied, calm and detached voice persistent. "We've almost routed their forces on this planet and the 221____st____ was able to reunite with Revan. That's not bad for three companies."_

_"__Revan. That's why they left." _

_"__I've recommended that you be transferred," she continued, ignoring him. "You'll be under General Tagge."_

_"__What? When did you... you did this before the operation?"_

_"__Goodbye, Lieutenant Colonel."_

___Without another word, she turned and walked away._

* * *

A shower, a clean change of dowdy clothes she'd found—as well as, mysteriously, underwear—and a tasteless meal of goop from the synthesizer later and Solande almost felt good about things. All she had to do was focus on not thinking about Kreia's mysterious pronouncements of destiny, Sith-stalking and death of the Republic.

But she failed.

She wailed, cried and even raged at Kreia's quiet insistence that there would be no way out of this, that nothing she held dear would exist if she simply walked away. The Force was with her again. That damnable phrase of the damnable Jedi. And they would find her, and they would destroy her and everything she knew.

It wasn't for her anymore, Soli said. She'd always been in service to someone else, never to herself. Just a person. Just a woman. Just beginning to find an identity for herself that didn't revolve around war, Jedi, or endless altruism. But she couldn't deny the truth of it.

She thought of home, of her mother and extended relatives. She even thought back to their days on Dantooine, a planet she always found mind numbingly dull as a child; of her father and how much he enjoyed the broad, quiet meadows, and how peaceful it had been. She thought of the towering buildings, spotlessly clean avenues and precisely manicured parks and gardens of Anaxes; its comfortable, orange skies. She thought of the friends she'd made while studying on Coruscant; the idealism, hopes and dreams they shared of making a difference in the Galaxy, how liberating it was expressing thoughts and ideas freely, away from the dogmatic confines of the Order.

Loneliness is an oppressive thing, a dangerous thing, and it weighed upon her now as heavily as any burden of the past. No training in existence could stave away the basic needs that come with being human, and Solande had gone without for far too long. She felt small; the dark walls of the room seemed to close in.

Tears welled up and fell freely, then, her body wracked with painful sobs, a torrent of emotions threatening to drown her.

_It's not a gift. It's a curse._

Slowly, she fell asleep, sincerely hoping she wouldn't wake up.


End file.
